A Singular Red Entity
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Even the best can be felled by a simple object, something so inconspicuous that it was overlooked. But, for a Grimm to overlook an object that should have been conspicuous in his eyes to become the victim? Well, Nick was a Grimm like no other, after all.


**A Singular Red Entity**

"Nick!" Monroe hissed, letting himself into Nick's bathroom. "Didn't your Aunt ever tell you not to accept candy from strangers?"

The bathroom reeked of vomit, sweat, and Nick in an unpleasant combination, and the only immediate response was Nick heaving noisily into the toilet. Monroe grimaced at the sound, setting his equipment down on the countertop. Not so much equipment as little bags of herbs, but important all the same.

"Not... funny," Nick responsed weakly, flushing the toilet and pushing himself away before using the wall for a support. He leaned back against it, looking appropriately horrible as for the conditions. _Poisoned_.

"Tasteless joke," Monroe murmured in mild agreement, grabbing a small bottle of peppermint oil from his pile. Nick watched him with cloudy eyes as he poured some of it into the toilet, setting the little bottle on the back afterwards.

"... What're you doin'?" Nick murmured, only to lose the small amount of colour left in his face and return to his lifestyle of being violently sick as Monroe looked on.

"Inhaling the scent of peppermint will ease headache and nausea. Stay here," he added, heading out of the bathroom. Nick didn't resurface long enough to respond, but Monroe was sure that he wouldn't go anywhere.

He pulled out ginger root when he got to the kitchen, awkwardly going through Nick's kitchen drawers until he found a cutting knife. And then just as awkwardly going through the cabinets until he found a cutting board. He silently went to chopping up the root over the sound of Nick's vomiting down the hall.

Monroe didn't have many details; he only knew that Nick had gotten sick. He'd received a mildly freaked out, tired, sick, and lonely call from Nick when he had started his sickness process, and the _Blutbad_ had scrambled to gather what could help before taking off to Nick's.

Nick had started feeling faint and nauseous at work, after lunch, and at the point where he'd walked, drunkenly, straight into his Captain, he'd been dismissed. Juliette was still at work, and so Nick had come home to a quiet house to settle his upset stomach.

Except that it wasn't getting better. It was getting worse. And he couldn't stop heaving long enough to actually travel further than five feet of the toilet.

So, that was the cue for Monroe to enter. And he'd come with herbs- ginger and peppermint- frowning to himself only because he didn't know what kind of sickness they were dealing with. He had guessed as much as it was poison; Nick hadn't been feeling any other flu-like symptoms asides from the aforementioned earlier. He had been in absolute perfect health the day before. And considering how it all occurred not even an hour after lunch, Monroe was led to believe poison. Now that he was here, it seemed the case.

It wasn't _extremely_ bad, asides from the violent vomiting. And considering the threats that Nick had constantly been getting from other creatures of the world, it wasn't entirely unexpected. Monroe should have prepped Nick on what to do if something like this ever happened.

He meandered back to the bathroom with a cup of ginger tea to find Nick covered in a new sheet of sweat, trembling visibly, his skin drawn taut against his knuckles. But, at least he wasn't puking at the most present moment.

"Nick? Nick, I need you to drink this." Monroe received such a fiery look in return that it could have melted ice. "If you puke it back up, we can worry about it later."

Nick's hands were shaking so badly that Monroe seriously wondered if he would be able to even hold the cup, so, with a sigh, he sank to the floor next to Nick and guided the cup to his lips. The sick Detective protested for half a second before tasting the bitterness of something besides vomit on his lips, and was then gulping it down for a respite of the taste of sickness.

"Slowly now," Monroe cautioned, making to move the mug away. Too late. Monroe nearly flinched as Nick made a desperate lunge for the toilet bowl. He sighed. "I didn't say to drink it like a man dying of thirst. It's the first thing your body has had in awhile, so it needs to adjust."

Nick just looked at him through eyes of a man that was utterly desperate, not seeming annoyed, for once, at the sarcastic remark. He was really sick, and Monroe felt a twinge of sympathy for the younger man.

"Sip it," he said, not letting Nick guide the mug of tea even though he took it in his hand. "Little bits."

After Nick had gotten a swallow or two down, and managed to keep it down, Monroe let himself relax a bit. The combined effects of the oil and the tea seemed to be helping Nick just the slightest. Now he didn't have to worry about Nick puking up a lung. Because, you know, he kind of needed that.

"So, what happened?" he muttered, sitting the cup on the floor next to him.

"I-" Nick cleared his throat, "I had a sorta lunch and... felt sick afterwards," he mumbled lamely, closing his eyes and swaying the slightest. Monroe placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him, gently leaning him back against the wall.

"Sorta lunch? What did you have?"

"... Apple..." Nick mumbled, scrunching in on himself.

"An apple?" Monroe raised his eyebrows, looking scrutinizingly at the Grimm. "You had an apple for lunch?" He received a weak nod in return. "Where did you get this apple?"

"On... on my desk. Somebody left it... A present," Nick continued, opening his eyes and looking around in confusion. Monroe produced the ginger tea warily, not wanting to send Nick into another set of heaves, but also wanting the man to make up for lost fluid.

"A present?"

"Well... y'know..."

He really didn't know, but either way, he was starting to understand what exactly had transpired. An apple... Really? Had the stubborn Grimm really not noticed the connection?

Beside him, Nick stiffened, turning a strange shade of green before he pressed a hand over his mouth.

"Oh, no, if you're going to be sick, be sick. I can make more tea," he advised. "You need to get it out. It's poison, Nick."

A look of panic passed Nick's gaze and he looked liable to argue, but opening his mouth was a fatal move that led to the unevitable round of tea-vomiting. When he could breathe again, the first word out of his lips was "Poison?"

"I believe," Monroe replied thoughtfully, resting his chin on his hand, "that the apple had less than beneficial intents." Nick blinked at him, obviously not understanding the reference. Monroe sighed. "Snow White? The poisoned apple?" Nick paled. Visibly. "Hey, it's okay! If it was anything really bad, you'd already be dead!" he continued cheerfully.

"Wonderful," Nick replied dryly, scrubbing the back of his hand across his mouth. Despite the _poison apple_ talk that had left him paler, he seemed to be feeling _slightly_ better. If only slightly.

"Time to take tea, Snow White," Monroe reminded, which earned him a half-abashed, half-stony glare. He smiled in response before Nick drained the last of the tea. He'd ended up vomiting up more than he'd actually consumed, Monroe was sure, and so, he pulled himself to his feet to make another trip to the kitchen.

Twenty minutes, a new round of tea-sipping, and much less vomiting later, Monroe was considering making the Grimm go to bed. Nick looked like he was going to fall asleep where he sat, but his complexion looked much better and he'd kept down the better half of the cup of tea. So, without letting himself think about it further, he offered a hand to Nick.

"... What?"

"You need sleep."

"Oh."

Monroe waited, but Nick didn't take his hand. In fact, his eyes had gone closed again. Monroe cleared his throat. Nick flinched. "Oh. Right. Sorry..." He seemed so exhausted, but took Monroe's offered hand. Nick's hand was still warm and sweaty, but Monroe tightened his grip and helped the sleepy Detective to his feet.

"You can walk, right?" he murmured, getting a nod as Nick tried to maintain a more awake stance on the world.

He got him back to his bedroom simply enough and managed to procure a bucket, just in case. There he left Nick, curled up weakly in the blankets as he poked around for the bleach. He spent ten minutes disinfecting the bathroom when a click towards the front of the house interrupted him. Protection instincts kicking in, along with a rush of adrenaline, he crept out of the bathroom with the Clorox-dipped rag still in his hand.

He recognized the scent a split second before she turned the corner- Nick's girlfriend, Juliette, was it? It was probably quite a shock to her, to see a strange man in her hallway. She had to have been alerted by his VW out front, but still... To her credit, she didn't scream, didn't run, didn't throw anything at him, and so, he explained lamely with: "Nick's sick," before retreating back to the bathroom. He didn't look back to see what her reaction was, but he heard her footsteps beat a hasty retreat back towards the bedroom.

He finished with the cleansing and looked lazily towards the open window, drinking in the fresh, nippy air. It was a nice day, but chilly, and Nick was probably more comfortable in bed now than anything. Monroe shrugged to himself, grabbing the can of Lysol and popping the top before applying a thin layer to frequently touched- or touched by Nick- objects. He was just stooping to put all the cleaning supplies away when Juliette's frame appeared in the doorway. He paused, looking up at her. He felt like some sort of introduction was in order, but, honestly, he had no fancy to start that conversation.

Juliette, however, did. "You're Monroe, right?" This surprised him. He didn't think Nick had talked about him to his girlfriend. "Nick mentioned that he knew someone who worked with clocks, and you're a person that I don't recognize, so I could only assume that you are his new friend..."

He closed the cabinet, standing. "Yeah. Monroe, that's me. Clockmaker. Nick's friend." He frowned a little bit at the pure amount of sarcasm leaking into his voice and mentally smacked his head; could he just get out of here? This was too awkward. He didn't mind taking care of the Grimm but he'd forgotten about the girlfriend.

"Well... thanks. For watching over him, I mean. He could have just called me..."

"Nick doesn't like to inconvenience others." He paused. "Except me, apparently."

Juliette laughed quietly at that, leaning against the doorway. "Nick's a good guy."

"Yeah," he mumbled, ducking his head. He really did not want to have this conversation, let alone with a human who didn't know Nick's secrets. "And yeah, no problem. I'm... happy to help. He just laid down not long ago and his vomiting seems to be letting up, so he'll probably be asleep for awhile. If he does wake up, give him plenty of fluids and... Ginger tea is good for nausea. I've had him sipping that occasionally. And this peppermint oil, if you open it, smelling it is good for it, too." He handed the small bottle of peppermint oil to Juliette. "And if he gets worse, call me."

"You seem knowledgeable. I'll keep you in the book." She smiled and Monroe batted down the amazing amount of guilt rising in his stomach. The Grimm secret wasn't his secret to tell, but all the same, it was hard to lie to this girl. She only had Nick's best interests at heart; Monroe could see that clearly.

"Yeah. Okay." He resisted the urge to walk straight down the hall to Nick's bedroom, to check on the Grimm he'd been fussing over for the better part of two hours. He'd almost forced upon Juliette the fact that Nick would be fine and he figured going to check on him would be defeating the purpose, so he ignored his instincts and headed straight for the front door.

He closed it quietly behind him, hearing the near-silent _click_ as the lock fell in place. Monroe sighed, leaning back against the door. He was far too willing to help this Grimm out. He was going to pay for it one day.

But, today? He didn't care. As long as Nick got better, got over the poison, as long as he could feel the satisfaction of saving the Grimm's life, he figured everything was going to be just perfectly okay.

* * *

><p><strong>My 50th story on ! Hooray! It's a Grimm-fic!<strong>

**A slightly more serious side to Monroe is shown here. Obviously, my derivative was _Snow White_. This is a oneshot, Grimmlins. I will not be adding anymore, unforunately. I hope you enjoy it for what it is.**

**As always, I would love to hear your opinion.**


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